'Return'

Author's Note:

Hey there! Got some fun stuff lined up in today's chapter,— I think you guys are gonna love it. Though, to be fair and honest, I had quite the difficulty to write some scenes, so please tell me if something seems off, and I might rewrite it. Quick question, though:

How do we feel about a little smut in the future?

Wink Wink

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"Never before had my life been so swept into such chaos, and yet such sweetness, as it was on that fateful day. My bond with Rhaenyra grew to heights I could scarcely have imagined, and soon, fate saw fit to entangle me in another, equally complex affection. I cannot say now what possessed me then, what stirred so recklessly within my heart. But looking back, I give thanks to whatever gods that guided me down that path, for in those brief moments, I found a happiness deeper than any I had ever known."

— An Older Alicent Hightower, reflecting.

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| 105 AC - (The same day) Late at night, inside the King's bedchambers - Viserys Targaryen 3rd Person Pov:

The Red Keep was silent at this hour, the kind of silence that carried weight, where shadows stretched long and deep across stone walls, whispering of secrets that thrived in the dark. The torches in the halls flickered faintly, their light too weak to chase away the gloom entirely.

Outside the king's chambers, the wind howled faintly, its mournful cry echoing through the cracks of the ancient keep.

Inside however, the warmth of a roaring hearth fought against the chill of the night.

It was there that King Viserys Targaryen sat hunched at his table, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he carefully painted the intricate spires of his Valyrian Freehold model, the flickering firelight reflecting off his face, casting shadows that made the lines on his forehead seem deeper, the weariness in his eyes more profound.

His fingers, steady but pale, guided the brush with precision, the world outside his chambers forgotten for a brief moment. It was here, amidst the quiet hum of crackling wood and his own steady breathing, that a voice came from beyond the heavy oak doors behind him. "Your Grace?"

The words broke his concentration, and his brush faltered slightly, leaving an unplanned streak across the miniature tower. A small sigh escaped his lips as he set the brush down and turned his head toward the door.

His voice, raspy with fatigue, called out.

"Yes?" The door creaked open, revealing one of his spies,— a hooded figure who moved with quiet purpose. The man's boots barely made a sound on the stone floor as he stepped inside, pausing only to bow low before him.

"Forgive the interruption, Your Grace." the man said, his voice muffled by the mask he wore, Viserys noted. "But I bring news from the lookouts near Blackwater Bay. A ship bearing the sigil of House Targaryen has been sighted, approaching the docks."

Viserys's eyes, dulled by days of grief and sleepless nights, sharpened with sudden interest. He straightened in his chair, his expression betraying a flicker of hope.

"A ship?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Then..." The spy nodded, understanding the unspoken question. "We believe it to be your brother's vessel, Your Grace."

For a moment, Viserys sat motionless, the weight of the revelation sinking in.

Aenys.

The name reverberated in his mind, stirring memories of his elder brother. The world around him seemed to blur, his focus narrowing to that single name, that single possibility.

He rose abruptly, his weariness momentarily forgotten. "Prepare an escort of Goldcloaks to meet me and my kingsguard at the docks." he commanded, his voice steady with purpose. "And ensure this matter remains unseen and unspoken of. Do you understand?"

The spy bowed again, his movements precise. "I do, Your Grace. It will be done."

Viserys turned toward the table, where his black cloak and the Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre rested. He moved quickly, draping the heavy fabric over his shoulders and securing the blade at his side. The weight of the sword felt strangely comforting, a reminder of the legacy he bore, the blood that ran through his veins.

"Good." he said, glancing back at the spy.

"You are dismissed." And the hooded figure bowed once more and slipped out, disappearing into the shadowed corridors of the keep.

As the door almost swung shut, Viserys moved toward it, reaching for the handle.

And as his hands brought pause to the closing doors, two figures clad in the white armor of the Kingsguard appeared in his vision, just outside his chambers. Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk Cargyll, twin brothers as alike as reflections, stood at attention, their hands resting lightly on the pommels of their swords. "My King?" Arryk asked, his tone cautious. "You are leaving your chambers at this hour?"

Viserys nodded, his expression resolute.

"Indeed. Ser Arryk, Ser Erryk, and you two will be escorting me. There's a matter that requires my presence at the docks, with a secret guest of mine." The twins exchanged a brief glance, their concern unspoken but evident in the slight furrow of their brows.

"Should arrangements not be made to escort your guest to the Keep instead, Your Grace?" Erryk suggested, but he quickly shut the idea down. "No." His reply was firm and final. "This is something I must do myself." The Kingsguard, ever loyal, nodded in unison, though their unease lingered.

Yet, as Viserys stepped into the corridor, the cool air of the keep brushing against his skin, another figure appeared, rounding the corner with hesitant steps. The small, slender form of Lady Alicent Hightower emerged from the shadows, her auburn hair catching the faint light of the torches.

"Your Grace." she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of surprise, and Viserys paused, his gaze meeting hers. Her eyes were rimmed red, as though she had been crying, and her hands fidgeted nervously with the fabric of her gown.

"Lady Alicent?" he asked, his tone gentler now. "What brings you here so late at night?"

She hesitated,— he noted,— glancing down at her feet before answering. "I could not sleep, Your Grace. I thought… perhaps I could read to you, as I have done before. To help and bring you some peace in this harsh times." For a moment, Viserys's expression softened, the weight of his grief flickering in his gaze. But he shook his head, his resolve returning yet once more. "I appreciate the thought, my lady, truly. But I am preoccupied tonight. Another time, perhaps."

Alicent was quick to nod, her movements stiff, and she stepped back, relief on her expression. "Of course, Your Grace. I wish you a safe night."

"Be careful, Lady Alicent." Viserys said, his tone fatherly. "The Red Keep may seem safe, but it is unwise to wander alone at this hour."

"I will take better care of myself, Your Grace." she replied, offering a faint curtsy before retreating into the shadows. Viserys watched her go for a moment, his thoughts briefly straying to the kindness she had shown him in these past days, before turning back to the task at hand. "Come." he said to the Cargyll twins, his voice firm once more. "We've tarried long enough." The three of them moved swiftly through the halls of the Red Keep, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone.

The torches flickered as they passed, casting fleeting shadows on the walls. The keep seemed emptier than usual, the weight of the late hour and the lingering sorrow of Aemma's death pressing heavily on its inhabitants. Soon, they exited Maegor's Holdfast and stepped into the open air and space of the Red Keep, the cool night breeze swept over them, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the near Blackwater Bay.

Viserys adjusted his cloak, his gaze fixed on the distant docks, as if he could already see where a ship bearing the Targaryen sigil awaited. "My King..." Arryk ventured cautiously, "...- are you certain this journey is necessary? The city holds dangers even greater than most, at this hour." Yet, Viserys did not slow his stride. "I have already arranged for the Goldcloaks to meet us there, and ensure our safety." he replied. "I will not be deterred. This is a matter of family, and it must be handled personally."

With that, the Kingsguard fell silent, their loyalty outweighing their doubts, and as they descended toward the docks, the faint glow of lanterns came into view, with the sound of the bay's gentle waves lapping against the piers filling the air. Viserys's heart quickened, a mixture of anticipation and unease swirling within him.

Brother. He thought, as the shadowed masts of the ship loomed closer. After all these years… is it truly you?

The night seemed to hold its breath, the weight of unspoken questions and long-buried emotions settling over them as they approached the ship that could change the course of everything the Seven Kingdoms could go through.

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| 105 AC - At the same time, Approaching King's Landing, Blackwater-Bay's Docks - Aenys Targaryen 3rd Person Pov:

The ship glided through the dark waters of Blackwater Bay, its black sails blending seamlessly with the starless sky above.

Only the soft ripple of waves lapping against the hull and the faint creak of wood disturbed the stillness. The lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their firelight casting ghostly shadows over the deck.

Aenys Targaryen stood near the prow, his hands resting lightly on the polished railing as his lilac eyes scanned the horizon.

King's Landing rose before him like a distant shadow in the dark, its towers and battlements silhouetted against the faint glow of moonlight. The Red Keep itself loomed largest of all, its crimson stone washed in pale silver from the full moon.

It was a sight both familiar and alien, like the echo of a half-remembered dream. He exhaled softly, his breath curling into the night air. "So, I am finally home." he murmured, his voice nearly swallowed by the soft whistle of the wind.

Behind him, Ser Arthur approached with measured steps, the knight's armor muted beneath a dark cloak. "Is it a pleasant sight, my prince?" Arthur asked, his tone careful yet curious. "To see the city of your birth again, after all these years?"

Aenys tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the Red Keep. "A welcome one, for certain." he replied at last, though his voice carried an undertone of hesitation. He straightened, his fingers curling around the railing. "But it feels... distant. As if it belongs to someone else now."

Arthur regarded him for a moment, his weathered face thoughtful. "Perhaps that will change when you set foot upon its soil once more." he offered. "The king, your own brother, must be awake, awaiting your arrival eagerly. I imagine his joy will be boundless."

Aenys chuckled softly, the sound tinged with irony. "The joy of kings is often fleeting, Arthur, I would know of it." he said, his eyes flickering to the distant shore. "But we shall see. For now, let us focus on the moment."

Then, after a few moments passed, the ship slowed down as it neared the harbor, the creak of wood and the muted shouts of sailors breaking the silence. Ropes were cast and secured, their coarse fibers hissing against the mooring posts. The gangplank was lowered with a groan, bridging the gap between the vessel and the stone docks below.

Aenys remained on deck, his gaze lingering on the scene before him. The harbor was quieter than he remembered, the usual clamor of dockworkers subdued by the late hour. Torches burned along the waterfront, their flickering flames casting uneven light over the cobblestones. A small contingent of men stood waiting, their golden cloaks drawn tight against the chill. At their center was a figure cloaked in black, his face obscured by the heavy hood he wore, yet Aenys recognized him immediately.

"Viserys." he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Ser Arthur followed his gaze, his hand instinctively resting on the pommel of his sword. "The king himself has come to greet you." he remarked, his tone tinged with teasing and playfull banter. "It seems your return is of great importance, my prince."

Aenys shook his head in exasperation, his expression unreadable. "Come with me." he said, stepping toward the gangplank. "Let us not keep him waiting much longer."

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The moment Aenys's boots struck the cobblestones, the world seemed to still. The cool night air wrapped around him, carrying the briny tang of the sea and the faint scent of damp stone. Each step he took echoed faintly, the sound a reminder of the silence that hung over the docks.

Viserys stepped forward, his hands emerging from the folds of his cloak. The torches around them cast fleeting light over his face, illuminating the unmistakable features of the Targaryen blood he carried with him. His lilac eyes, so like Aenys's own, were wide with disbelief and something deeper,— relief, perhaps, or even joy.

"Aenys?" Viserys's voice was soft, trembling with emotion. "Brother." Aenys inclined his head, his tone steady but warm. "It is good to see you again."

Viserys hesitated for only a moment before closing the distance between them, pulling Aenys into a fierce embrace. "You're alive!" he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "By the gods, you're alive!" Aenys returned the embrace briefly before stepping back, his hands resting lightly on Viserys's shoulders.

"I am indeed!" he said with a faint smile. "And look at you. A crown suits you, Viserys. Oh, how the world changes so quickly."

Viserys laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. "It changes too swiftly indeed." he admitted, his eyes scanning his brother's face as if to reassure himself of Aenys's presence. "Come, brother. Let us leave this place,— for there is much to say, and the night is not nearly long enough!"

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The winding corridors beneath the Red Keep were dimly lit, their stone walls cold and unyielding. The brothers walked in silence, their footsteps muffled by the heavy tapestries lining the walls. Flanking them were Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, the twins' expressions carefully neutral, masking their confusion and intrigue, as they followed at a respectful distance,— unable to hear anything that would be discussed between the two royals.

They soon reached the chamber where Balerion's skull loomed in the flickering torchlight, its hollow sockets staring down like the empty eyes of a god. The sight seemed to steal the warmth from the air, leaving only the weight of history pressing down upon their shoulders.

Viserys then wasted no time, and turned his attention to Aenys, his face etched with equal parts curiosity and apprehension. "So tell me, brother." he said, his voice low.

"What happened that day? The storm… the ship… Our entire family thought we had lost you then." at that, Aenys's gaze lingered on the massive dragon skull before drifting back to his brother. "It is a tale long in the telling..."

He began, his tone measured. "But know this, brother. The storm did not claim me. And strangely enough, fate decided that I had bigger things to see and go through, and so it 'carried' me elsewhere… so far away from civilization, that when I opened my eyes again, it was to find the sight of Old-Valyria right in front of me. Would you believe it?"

Viserys's eyes widened, disbelief and wonder warring within them. "Old-Valyria?" he whispered. "You journeyed to the ruins of our ancestors?"

"I did, though not by choice." Aenys confirmed with a small laugh. "And I remained there for many years. Though I must inform you that time flows differently in that cursed and damned place. For you, sixteen years may have passed since then. But for me? It was but five..." A half-truth, yet Viserys wouldn't know of it, and so no harm was done.

His brother however, shook his head, his expression a mixture of awe and unease.

"What you must have seen… endured…"

"Much." Aenys replied simply. "But the details are for another time. What matters now is that I have returned." Viserys nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "And your return changes everything as well." Viserys said, his tone heavy with meaning. "As I told you earlier, my wife and son are gone,— taken from me far too soon. And as for our brother, the less said, the better. So, tomorrow, I will name you my new heir. The realm must know you live, that you stand beside me. Truly, you should have been king yourself, Aenys, had grandfather not..." His voice faltered, the weight of old regrets pressing down on him.

Aenys's smile was faint, touched with a mix of melancholy and resolve. "The past cannot be rewritten, brother. What's done is done. Let us look forward, not back. If it is your will to name me your heir, even when you could have chosen your daughter... I will gladly accept it."

Viserys stepped closer, resting a hand on Aenys's shoulder.

His expression softened, his voice quieter now, as if confessing a secret. "Rhaenyra is capable, yes, but she was not prepared for the burden of rule. You, as the eldest son of our dear father, were. You carry the knowledge, the discipline, the blood of our house as it was meant to be. This is the path I have chosen, and I will not waver from it." He paused, a faint, almost playful smile touching his lips. "But regardless of it, tell me one thing, Aenys... You were always the dragonless one, weren't you?"

Aenys's gaze sharpened then, a glimmer of something fierce and unyielding flickering in his eyes. His voice dropped, layered with a playfull and quiet intensity. "Not anymore, brother." he said, his tone hinting at secrets yet untold. "Not anymore."

The torches crackled softly, their light casting shifting shadows over the stone walls. As the brothers stood beneath the looming skull of Balerion, the weight of their shared history hung heavy between them. Tomorrow would bring revelations and reckonings, but for now, they allowed themselves a moment of quiet anticipation.

The future awaited, cloaked in shadow and flame.

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| 105 AC - Early Morning, Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon's Guest Chambers – Laena Velaryon 3rd Person POV:

The early morning sunlight filtered softly through the gauzy curtains of the guest chambers, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. The scents of lemon oil and lavender hung faintly in the air, mingling with the ever-present salt tang that seemed to cling to the Velaryons no matter how far they traveled from Driftmark.

Laena Velaryon sat cross-legged on a cushioned stool, her silver-gold hair tumbling freely around her shoulders as her mother, Rhaenys Targaryen, worked deftly to braid it.

Rhaenys's hands moved with practiced ease, weaving strands together in an intricate pattern that only a mother's touch could achieve.

This was a ritual they had shared since Laena was a little girl, one she still cherished even as her three and ten name day approached and the world began to press expectations upon her shoulders. Today, those expectations loomed larger than ever, all the lords of the realm would be gathering in the throne room to hear King Viserys name his heir, in the evening.

Laena tilted her head slightly, watching her mother's reflection in the polished mirror before them. Rhaenys's face was composed, her features a perfect mask of regal calm, but Laena could see the faint tension in her eyes, the way her lips pressed just a bit too tightly together. Her mother was the 'Queen Who Never Was', and though she bore the title with grace, Laena knew it carried a weight that never truly left her.

"Mother." Laena began, her tone light, playful. "Do you think the king will actually name Rhaenyra his heir, today?" Rhaenys met her daughter's gaze in the mirror, her hands never faltering in their work. "That is the expectation, yes." she replied evenly.

"Viserys has no son, and Rhaenyra is his blood. The lords will grumble, as they always do, but they will not refuse the king's will."

Laena hummed thoughtfully, turning the idea over in her mind. "I think it would be wonderful to have a queen." she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "It would make Rhaenyra the first woman to sit the Iron Throne."

"Indeed, it would." Rhaenys murmured, her tone unreadable. She secured the end of one braid with a delicate silver pin, shaped like a curling wave. "The first, if the lords of Westeros do not find some way to undermine her."

Laena frowned, her youthful optimism dimming slightly. "But the king has dragons,— surely no one would dare defy him."

Rhaenys chuckled softly, though there was little humor in the sound. "Dragons are powerful, my love, but ambition is a flame that burns just as fiercely. Do not underestimate the lengths to which men will go to preserve their hold on power."

Laena fell silent for a moment, pondering her mother's words as Rhaenys began on the next braid. The rhythmic tug of her mother's fingers was soothing, grounding her in the familiar even as the world outside their chamber seemed poised on the edge of change.

"Mother..." Laena said hesitantly, her voice softer now. "Did you ever… have a love, when you were young? Before Father, I mean."

The question hung in the air like a held breath, and for a moment, Rhaenys's hands paused in their work. It was so brief that Laena might have missed it if she hadn't been watching her mother's reflection so intently.

Rhaenys resumed braiding, her movements just as precise as before, but there was a subtle shift in her expression, a flicker of something that Laena couldn't quite name.

"Why do you ask?" Rhaenys said, her tone carefully measured, and Laena shrugged lightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "I don't know. I suppose I'm curious. You're always so composed, so… perfect. It's hard to imagine you ever being young and… reckless,— like I am..."

Rhaenys's lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile or perhaps a sigh.

"Recklessness is not a trait I often indulged." she said. "But I was young once, just as you are now. And like all young people, I had dreams,— desires even."

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, Laena thought she might let the subject drop. But then Rhaenys spoke again, her tone quieter, more reflective. "There was someone, long ago." she admitted. "A cousin. We grew up together, shared many of the same lessons and hardships, the same dreams as well. He was… kind, strong-willed, and so very certain of himself."

Laena's eyes widened, her curiosity fully piqued. "What happened to him?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

Rhaenys's hands stilled once more, and this time, the pause lingered. Her gaze seemed to drift, as though she were looking through the mirror, through the walls of the chamber, into some distant memory. "He was lost to the sea." she said softly. "A storm took him, along with the ship that carried him. It was a long time ago."

Laena saw the way her mother's jaw tightened, the way her fingers gripped the braid a little too tightly before relaxing again. "I'm sorry, mother." Laena said quietly, her voice tinged with guilt for having stirred painful memories.

Rhaenys shook her head, her composure returning as she resumed her work. "There is no need to apologize, my love." she said gently. "Loss is a part of life, especially for those of us who bear the name Targaryen or Velaryon. We are born of the sea and fire, and both can be just as unforgiving."

Laena hesitated, then ventured another question. "Did you love him?"

Rhaenys's hands faltered for just an instant, and she let out a soft, weary sigh. "Yes." she admitted. "I loved him. But love is not always enough to shield us from the harshness of the world. Sometimes, it is a burden as much as it is a gift." Laena fell silent, sensing that her mother had said all she was willing to say on the matter.

Yet, even in her silence, Laena felt the weight of the unspoken words, the grief that lingered just beneath the surface of her mother's composed exterior. When Rhaenys finished the final braid, she secured it with another silver pin and rested her hands gently on Laena's shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Rhaenys's expression softened into something that was equal parts pride and sorrow.

"You will face many choices in your life, Laena." she said, her voice firm yet tender.

"Some will be easy, others… less so. But whatever path you choose, remember this... love is a fire. It can warm you, or it can consume you. Be wise in how you wield it."

Laena nodded, her heart swelling with a mixture of admiration and unease. She could see the strength in her mother, the resilience that had carried her through so much, yet she couldn't help but wonder at the cost.

"Thank you, Mother." she said softly. "For telling me." Rhaenys smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"Come now." she said, her tone lighter. "We mustn't keep your father waiting. Today is a day for history, after all,— and I am sure he will want to tell many things before lunch."

As Laena rose from the stool, her braids gleaming in the morning light, she glanced at her mother once more, feeling a newfound respect for the woman who had weathered so many storms. Together, they left the chamber, their steps echoing softly in the halls as the day's weight began to settle upon them both.

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| 105 AC - A few hours before the last scene, Rhaenyra Targaryen's chamber - Rhaenyra 3rd Person Pov:

The first light of dawn streamed through the tall windows of Rhaenyra's chambers, illuminating the fine tapestries and casting delicate shadows across the floor.

Dust motes danced in the golden beams, drifting lazily in the still air. Beneath the weight of silken blankets and disheveled pillows, Rhaenyra Targaryen slept deeply, her face peaceful in repose. The tumult of court life had not yet reached her, it would seem.

That peace however, was broken by the soft creak of the chamber door, followed by the gentle murmur of a familiar voice.

"Rhaenyra." Alicent Hightower whispered, stepping lightly across the threshold. Her expression was one of mild exasperation as she approached the bed, her green gown flowing gracefully behind her. "Rhaenyra, wake up. You cannot stay abed all morning, not today of all days."

Rhaenyra stirred with a groan, turning her face deeper into her pillow. "The lords of the realm will only meet in the throne room come evening." she murmured playfully, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Surely, the day can wait a few more hours for me."

Alicent sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder.

"Your father will name you his heir before the entire court and the lords of the Seven Kingdoms today. You'll need more than bed hair and charm to sway the lords of the realm." At this, Rhaenyra turned onto her back, her silver-gold hair fanned out in a tangled halo around her head. Her lilac eyes blinked open slowly, locking onto Alicent's green ones with a mischievous glint. "The lords would kneel before me in rags if I wished it." she said, a smirk tugging at her lips.

In truth however, she knew she would not be named heir,— her father's intentions had shifted with the arrival of news of her uncle Aenys. But she couldn't share that with anyone, not even Alicent, so she played along. "But for you, Alicent, I will rise."

Alicent shook her head, though a small smile softened her reproach. "It is not just for me, Rhaenyra. Your father,—..."

"Yes, yes, my father's legacy and the weight of the realm. I know." Rhaenyra interrupted, throwing off the blankets and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She stood with a stretch, her nightgown pooling at her ankles, then turned to Alicent with a grin.

"But first, we must visit the kitchens. I hear the lords' breakfast will include honeycakes, and I think it's our duty to ensure they are worthy."

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent exclaimed, though her protest was tinged with laughter. "You cannot think of cakes when,—..."

"Cakes and dragons are all that keep me sane these days." Rhaenyra quipped, a shadow passing briefly over her face before she pushed it away. She reached for Alicent's hand, pulling her to her feet.

"Come, let us find some mischief before the crown crushes me entirely."

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The two girls moved through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls.

Drowsy servants and yawning guards nodded respectfully as they passed, though none dared interrupt the princess and her companion. The air smelled faintly of wax and aged stone, mingled with the lingering aromas of breakfast preparations from the kitchens below.

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent began hesitantly as they reached the godswood, the morning sunlight filtering through the ancient trees. "Shouldn't you be preparing for the ceremony? All the lords will be watching you. Shouldn't you… rehearse your vows or something?"

Rhaenyra turned to her friend with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "There are things I cannot speak of, Alicent." she said cryptically, her tone softer now. "Not yet, at least. But if there's one thing that you shouldn't worry so much about, it's today's ceremony. What will come, will come, now loosen up."

She squeezed Alicent's hand gently, then released it, spinning away with a lighthearted hum. Her voice carried a tune that danced through the trees, an old Valyrian melody that Alicent didn't recognize. "Gods help me, you are always so mysterious..." Alicent muttered, following her friend through the dew-dappled grass. Yet, despite the beauty of the morning, Alicent felt a heavy weight in her chest that even Rhaenyra's cheer couldn't lift. Her father's demands clinging to her thoughts, souring every moment she shared with her dearest friend.

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After a while, the princess and her friend path curved away from the confines of the Red Keep, and soon led them away from it, toward the Dragonpit.

It was then, after getting out of the small royal carriage, that Alicent's steps faltered as the colossal structure loomed before them, a dark silhouette against the brightening sky.

"Rhaenyra..." she began, apprehension creeping into her voice, "... why are we going to the Dragonpit?"

"You'll see!" Rhaenyra replied with a grin, her pace quickening. Inside, the cavernous pit was dim and humid, the air heavy with the scent of dragons. Rhaenyra's voice rang out confidently, commanding the dragonkeepers to bring Syrax. The men bowed deeply, their expressions respectful but wary as they hurried to obey.

Alicent stood frozen besides her, as they waited, her hands fidgeting with her skirts.

She glanced nervously at Rhaenyra, who remained poised and unbothered, her gaze fixed on the shadows where Syrax would eventually emerge. "Rhaenyra." Alicent said hesitantly, "Surely you don't mean to fly today, out of all days, right?"

"Of course I do!" Rhaenyra replied, her tone light. "Also, as I well know, you've never flown before, have you?"

"No, and I don't plan to start now. We have been through this..." Alicent said firmly, her heart racing, yet before she could protest further, a low rumble echoed through the pit, and Syrax emerged from within, her golden scales gleaming like liquid sunlight.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, stroking the dragon's snout with practiced ease, and Alicent took a cautious step back, her breath hitching as the massive creature shifted.

"Rhaenyra, please... this is madness." Yet Rhaenyra wouldn't let her friend get away.

"No, Alicent. This is what life is all about." She countered, turning to Alicent with a mischievous smile. "Come, Alicent. Trust me on this." And before Alicent could even resist, Rhaenyra took her by the waist and guided her toward Syrax, terror written on the brunette expression. With a mix of trepidation and disbelief, Alicent allowed herself to be lifted onto the dragon's back, clutching Rhaenyra's waist in a white-knuckled grip while at it.

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"Söves, Syrax!" With a quick command from her rider, the she-dragon Syrax soon leapt into the sky, her powerful wings slicing through the morning air, and Alicent let out a startled cry, burying her face against Rhaenyra's hair as the ground fell away beneath them.

"Open your eyes, Alicent." Rhaenyra urged, her voice filled with exhilaration. "Look around you! This is what it means to truly be free." And while Alicent hesitated, she soon found herself slowly lifting her head.

Her eyes taking in the city of King's Landing stretched out below them, a patchwork of rooftops and winding streets. The air was cooler here, fresher, and the sunlight seemed brighter against the endless expanse of blue sky. Birds flew alongside them,— Alicent noted,— their cries mingling with the sound of Syrax's powerful wings.

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Everything was going peacefully, yet it was then, as they broke through some of the higher placed clouds, that a shadow passed overhead,— a vast, ominous shape that blotted out the sun. Alicent's and Rhaenyra's breath caught, their eyes widening as they looked up to see a dragon unlike any they had ever imagined.

Its black and green scales shimmered darkly, and its glowing green orbs fixed on them with an almost predatory intelligence. "What is that?" Alicent whispered, her voice trembling.

"That's the Cannibal..." Rhaenyra breathed, her awe laced with fear. "A wild dragon. No Targaryen has ever been able to tame him. But I wonder why it would be so far away from Dragonstone?" She questioned, though she received no answer, obviously.

Then, the great dark beast let out a deep, final and resonant growl before ascending higher into the clouds, leaving them in his shadow for awhile, before it completly disappeared from their sight. Syrax shuddered beneath them, her wings faltering as Rhaenyra decided that going back to the Dragonpit was the best choice at the moment.

And so she simply guided her she-dragon downward.

A few minutes passed, and then they finally landed back in the Dragonpit, with Alicent quickly slidding off Syrax's back, her legs shaky and her face pale. Rhaenyra however dismounted gracefully, turning to her friend with a wide grin. "You did well, Alicent!" she said, pulling her into a jubilant, emotional hug. "And thank you for trusting me."

Alicent managed a weak smile, her heart still racing. "Never again, Rhaenyra." she muttered, though her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with reluctant exhilaration.

A few steps away from them, Ser Steffon Darklyn greeted them with a raised brow. "An eventful flight, I presume?"

"You have no idea how, Ser." Alicent replied respectfully, glancing back at Rhaenyra, who was already lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Probably planning an even greater adventure for the two of them. (A/N: I can think of a greater 'adventure' for the two of them, alright... It's a joke, don't come at me with bullshit. Lets wait a few more years... I'm just joking... or am I?)

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| 105 AC - A few hours later, early Afternoon, Viserys Targaryen's Chamber - Harrold Westerling 3rd Person Pov:

The corridor outside the king's chambers was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun streaming through the high, arched windows. The air was still, save for the faint rustle of a tapestry stirred by the faintest of breezes. Ser Harrold Westerling stood motionless at his post, the white of his Kingsguard cloak stark against the crimson-and-black banners of House Targaryen that lined the walls. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, a sentinel carved of flesh and steel,— with his sworn brother, Steffon Darklyn standing beside him in a similar manner.

The morning had been uneventful so far, though there was a palpable tension in the Red Keep, like the stillness before a storm.

Harrold had spent long enough in service to the crown to recognize the subtle shifts in the air. The lords and ladies seemed more hushed, their footsteps more hurried, and whispers carried the weight of speculation rather than idle gossip.

The soft creak of the chamber door broke the stillness, drawing Harrold and Steffon's gaze. King Viserys Targaryen stepped out, his face weary yet alight with a strange fervor. His usual air of warmth and hesitation was replaced with something sharper, more resolute.

"Ser Harrold." the king addressed him, his tone brisk but not unkind.

"Your Grace." Harrold replied, bowing his head in deference. Viserys adjusted the his kingly cloak over his shoulders, the fabric embroidered with subtle threads of gold that caught the light. "I have a task for you." he said, his lilac eyes meeting Harrold's with an intensity that brooked no questioning.

"Anything, Your Grace." Harrold replied without hesitation, his hand tightening slightly on his sword's pommel. Viserys gestured down the corridor. "Go to the eastern wing of Maegor's Holdfast. There is a chamber there, one I had prepared for my heir, yesterday's night. You are to escort him to the throne room when the hour arrives for the ceremony to start, is that understood?"

Harrold's brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his stern features. "Him, Your Grace?" Viserys's expression softened, a faint smile touching his lips. "You'll understand soon enough, Ser Harrold. Go now, and treat him with the respect due his station. He has waited far too long to stand where he belongs."

Though the words were enigmatic, Harrold sensed the weight behind them. "As you command, Your Grace." He bowed low, the movement crisp and practiced, and without another word, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the corridor, his boots echoing faintly against the stone.

The eastern wing of Maegor's Holdfast was quieter than the rest of the Red Keep, its halls lined with intricate tapestries depicting the histories of House Targaryen,— while several cautious guards patrolled the corridors with surprising intensity.

Harrold's steps slowed as he neared the chamber the king had indicated. A pair of guards stood outside the door, their expressions carefully neutral, though Harrold did not miss the way their eyes flicked toward him with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

With a nod, Harrold dismissed them, his mere presence alone enough to assert authority. He then pushed the heavy oak door open, the hinges groaning softly in protest. The chamber beyond was modest by royal standards, though still rich with the trappings of Targaryen grandeur. The air carried the faint scent of saltwater and parchment, mingling with the metallic tang of Valyrian steel. A single figure in black armor stood by the tall window, his back to the door, gazing out at the sprawl of King's Landing below.

Even before he spoke, Harrold knew. The bearing, the silver hair catching the light, the unmistakable air of command,— this was no ordinary man.

The silver haired man then turned, his movements deliberate, and Harrold's breath caught in his chest. The face was older than he remembered, the lines of time and hardship etched into it, but the lilac eyes were the same, fierce and unyielding.

"Prince Aenys!" Harrold whispered, his voice thick with disbelief. Aenys Targaryen regarded him with a faint smile, his expression both knowing and measured.

"Ser Harrold Westerling..." he said, his voice rich and steady. "It has been some time."

Harrold dropped to one knee, his head bowed. "My Prince!" he said, the words reverent. "I... I thought you lost to us. To the sea, to the storm. All of Westeros thought so." Aenys stepped closer to the white knight, his boots silent against the stone floor. "The storm took much, that is true." he said quietly, his tone laced with a weight Harrold could not name. "But it did not take me."

Harrold looked up then, his face a mixture of awe and sorrow. "We mourned you..." he said. "I mourned you, my prince. I was sworn to protect the royal family when I began my vows, and yet I failed to protect you."

"You failed nothing, Ser." Aenys replied, his voice firm but not unkind. "My fate was beyond your reach. What matters now is that I have returned, and that I find you still true to your oaths." Harrold's hand tightened over the hilt of his sword as he straightened, his expression resolute. "I am yours to command, within certain limits, as I was before. My loyalty to you has never wavered, my prince."

Aenys studied him for a long moment, his lilac eyes searching. Finally, he nodded. "I believe you,— I truly do." he said. "And I will have need of such loyalty in the years to come, Harrold." And the white caped knight inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Whatever you ask, it will be done." For the first time in the past years, Aenys's smile reached his eyes once more, though it carried a hint of something darker,— determination, perhaps, or the weight of secrets unspoken. "Then rise, Ser Harrold. We still have much to prepare for the coming cerimony."

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As they made their way through the corridors of the Red Keep, the atmosphere grew heavier, the anticipation in the air almost palpable. Servants paused in their duties to glance at the pair, their eyes widening in recognition,— or confusion. The news of Aenys Targaryen's return had not yet spread, and Harrold could feel the ripple of whispers following in their wake.

"Your return will shake the realm." Harrold said quietly as they neared the throne room.

"The lords and ladies will have questions,— demands, even." The white caped knight said, his voice weary. "They will have answers soon enough." Aenys replied, his tone measured. "But not before they understand their place." Harrold glanced at him, noting the quiet steel in his expression.

This was not the same prince he had known years ago; there was an edge to him now, a confidence born of trials few could comprehend. They reached the massive doors of the throne room, where two Kingsguard stood at attention. Harrold turned to Aenys, his hand resting lightly on his sword.

"Are you ready for it, my prince?" he asked.

And Aenys met his gaze, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I have been ready for 'sixteen' years, Ser Harrold. Let them see me once more,— they won't even know what hit them." (A/N: Aenys won't be telling everyone that only 5 years passed for him, though he looks younger than he should because of it, because he is a prince of royal blood, no one will have the courage to ask about it. On a side note, not even Viserys noticed it, I blame it on the scene being during the night, Viserys being overjoyed and emotional, and totally not on my failed memory...)

And so, the towering doors began to creak open, the sound echoing through the halls like the growl of a waking dragon. Beyond, the court and all of the gathered lords of the Seven Kingdoms waited, unaware of the storm about to descend upon them.

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| Fire & Blood |

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